Brothers by Blood and Bone
Story Prologue Years ago, six thieves trespassed upon the dilapidated lair of a dark lord long since vanquished. They searched for tools and trinkets, weapons to wreak havoc and treasures to savor. They found a little of both. A mysterious spear, of supposed mundanity, whose unspeakable powers were soon spoken. In a flash, one thief become two. A body split, now rendered twin halves of twin half-minds. One half departed for glory elsewhere, while the other descended into raging madness, yearning for reunion. Now an ancient score has been settled amongst gods, and peace bestowed upon a lush new world. Now the two halves have the silence, in which to sense a call for the other, and feel the desire to be whole again. Chapter 1 - Fear and Fury Leave a Body Woken Soft sands cushion my limp body, a comfort I don’t recall to have felt for quite some time. The sediments press against my back and quietly envelope the spiked protrusions that line my spine, gently, like a tender embrace from those too kind to be a comrade of mine. The sleep is soothing, but there’s also a silence. An unbearable silence. It lets me think. It lets me dwell, on goals and desires I’d rather have had done long ago. They can’t wait, not anymore. I can’t stay here. I must…I must awake. It’s a tedious task, but I manage to slowly open my pitiful eyes, and awaken them as my other senses have. A sky decorated with the heavens’ pinks and purples wait to greet them. I see a sun, rising as tiredly as I. I find comfort in the relation. We are both slow to wake in the dawn. I force my body to action, beginning bone by bone, personally noting that each limb still functions. Both arms, both legs, both elbows, both knees, both wrists, both ankles. Every finger on every hand, every toe on every foot, neck, spine, and waist. Yes, I believe that’s it. Everything’s normal, or as “normal” as the body of a skakdi can ever be. Everything’s intact, and ready. Now…now to worry about everything else. As slowly as my eyes had opened, I ease my back upwards, rising from the comforting sands and arching over my still-laid legs. I feel a few stubborn grains continuing to cling to me, inviting me to return to my dreamless sleep. I decline. Make no mistake, it’s tempting. Very tempting. But there is something I must do. Something I’ve been meaning to do. A hole that must be filled. I climb to feet, ever so slowly. Muscles long-dormant work again to support my massive frame. Gradually, my spine unwinds, and finally I stand tall above the sand. I am awake. I turn away from the sprawling ocean to begin my journey. I find cliffs towering above the beachside behind me, standing as the divide between the ocean and whatever lies beyond up above and further onward: my first obstacle in my new quest. Simple, but undoubtedly arduous. Nonetheless, it must be traversed, like everything else. I walk to the great slab of stone, and raise my right fist. I pull my arm back, and tighten the muscle. This must be a precise blow. No room for error or weakness, not if I’m to reach the peak. I slam my fist forward, and the stone crumbles away before it, making room for it to grasp the rock face. It feels good, smashing things again. It’s been a while. Pulling up from my new handhold, I dig the talons of my feet into the stone as well, holding my body steady in its inch-high hang above the ground. Raising my left fist, I ensure I can go even higher. Right fist, left fist, right fist again, I make one hole after the other, and forge my path heavenward. Only a few yards up now, a gust of wind whistles along the rocks. Old instincts falter, and the gust gets between me and my anchors. The roaring push forces me backwards. I dig my claws into the stone, even as I feel the grasp slipping. Gravity beckons me downward, while the sands promise a soft fall. I refuse. I can’t afford another setback, not again! My nails find themselves on the edge, and…and…the gust stops. I let one long breath escape me. I think it’s earned. And I let out a laugh. A hearty, rusted laugh, that echoes along the cliffs. The breeze that attempts to chill my bones, the aches that carry the echo of my muscles’ cry, it feels so…''beautiful.'' I feel alive again. The sensation strengthens me, and I push onward. I begin to notice more and more of the environment that has chosen to witness my rise. I know I shouldn’t. I know I should be focusing on the climb. I know I could very well fall to a grisly demise if I don’t. But what’s living if not appreciating what you’ve got? Or what you can take? I notice crashing waves upon the shore. Gulls flying overhead, squawking with anticipation for bountiful breakfasts. Cliffs stretching to either side of me, seemingly holding the whole landmass aloft. Waterside, I notice something more curious: a lower cliff stretching out farther than the wall behind me, a sizeable ledge, and on its surface I spot something stranger, a mountain of rubble. Even from here I recognize the cubic shapes of bricks, scattered where there were once seals to hold them together. I can make out nothing else. Nothing living nor dead seems to remain. I’m not sure what once stood there, on the shores of this cold border to paradise, but I like to think it was a looming fortress. A place from where a conqueror could dispense unchallenged rule. A center of a unified empire. An inspiring thought. “''Aaaagh!” I cry, clutching my head with one hand. I almost let go of the other, swinging just a bit too crazily for my liking. As I regain my balance, I focus on the intruding thought. That word. ''Fortress. It meant something. Yes. And that rubble. It meant something too. They were important. Yes, very important, for with them lied a memory, and beyond that a cascade more. I retrace through the fragments as I climb further upward. I need to remember everything. I’m a part, a piece in a great gestalt of a being with powers unlimited. Before that, I’m a water-breathing serpent, petty and humiliated. I remember blistered ruins of a fortified island. I remember claustrophobic confines of filthy tanks. I remember an icy cold deep and twisting underwater tunnels. And…''Toa''. The masters of nature through will and weapons alone, always so self-righteous and arrogant. I remember six that fell to my blows with ease, and six more whose strength proved a worthier rival. I remember the struggles, and all the frustrations that came as plan after plan was thwarted. I remember the anger as everything I’d worked towards fell apart. Another gust of wind blows along the cliff. My instincts falter just a little less, and my body is pushed up against the stone even as the wind roars on by, trying to grab my spinal protrusions in passing. Hearing the roars recede, I resume my journeys, inward and outward. The memories grow clearer now. Now I’m a skakdi, as I am in the present. A tall, muscular bipedal beast, whose prominent spine is lined with imposing spikes stretching up my back and to each bicep, and whose angular face is adorned with a grinning jaw of massive, pointed teeth. I remember how I always liked the teeth. Nature throws another blow my way. And I’m too slow, again. I try to hold on as the winds make their way between me and the cliff, attempting to drive us further apart. My left hand slips off the grip. The feet give way too. The talons cut too far in for their own good and break right through the cliff. My right fist clenches the freezing stone as my body dangles precariously in the wind, bouncing me back and forth. I smash into the cliff once, twice, thrice, and so on. The thought occurs to me that this would be a stupid way to die. I keep swinging about, prayers to obscure deities racing through my head, whether I want them to or not. Every figurehead of superstitious nonsense my tribe-mates on Zakaz ever came up with gets a request for safe passage, a plea that they quell their vengeful breaths. Any minute now, for my sake! For everything I intend to do! For everything I have to avenge! The roars dwindle to whistles. And at last…at last it dies down. I slip my left hand back into the handhold and hug the cliff tightly. This is not where I die. Not now. Not here. Not when I have so much left to do. I breath heavily, watching the heartstone on my chest flash ever so panickily. I keep watching until it slows, until it becomes a singular glare. I look into that light and find my peace. I utter a silent prayer of thanks to all the celestial figures that may or may not be watching me in my mere mortal doings. They deserve that much. I then pull myself up and smash in my next grip. And then the next. The journey continues. I remember a boiling chamber now, and the stairway of tension and dread that led to it, and beyond that an island of terrified Matoran. And I remember them, the Piraka. Six we were, on a daring quest for the Mask of Life, seeking all the power such a name entailed. I remember Zaktan the secretive snake – figuratively speaking, of course – Avak the trigger-happy gunslinger, Reidak the brutish brawler, Hakann the pathetic schemer, Thok the treacherous drifter. And me. Vezok. The paranoid jumble of fear and fury. The one most unpredictable. The one that wanted to find the mask most of all. Not just for all the powers it promised, but for the one who was bound to be there alongside it. The one responsible for all my pain and troubles since his departure. I stop climbing. Something else has started whispering along the cliffs. I hug the cliff again, bracing myself for the worst that nature dare dish out. But it doesn’t come. Not what I was expecting to come. A cackle echoes around me. Sharp and coarse, it reeks of sanity long gone, and sadism most beloved. I feel no push or pull from the winds this time. I only hear the laugh. That terrible, awful laugh, that never stopped taunting me, daring me to step forth into some gaping abyss. I remember it well. It, and its more devious source. Yes. It all becomes clear. That paranoia, that maelstrom of anger and violence, that wasn’t me. ''Not always. I remember a past self, one calmer and controlled. A self of which I could only form a pale shadow after the thievery. And the one…the one who took that from me… The laugh grows louder now, bombarding me from ever side. I almost tear free my arms to cover my ears before common sense takes hold. Something tells me it wouldn’t have done any good anyway. I begin climbing again, even faster this time. I have to get away. I have to escape it! As the laugh grows, a new memory comes, this time of another chamber, shadowy and dank. I remember crushed remains of a titan under an equally titanic gate, and beyond him a lair brimming with whispers of schemes and plots. I remember the spear, and the flash that emanated from its tip, and that tear, that ''horrible ''tear, as my one body and mind became two, and the collected mass of cold intellect I once cherished became scattered in disarray. And then…and then there was ''him. The half-being, the wretch that scurried away with half my mind, half my life. The center of which all my goals and desires used to surround, and shall again. The key to seizing back my old persona. My true persona, one of a whole being, proud and strong, full and lively. That was who I was. My right claw grasps a new ledge. Except I didn’t make it myself, not this time. I look up from the rocks, and see…only sky. No more stone now to impede my view of the pink and blue. I bring my left arm up, and my limbs heave in unison. I rise, higher and higher, and at last, at long last, I am risen. I turn around to the cliff, and the sands below. So small now. So distant. And in the steady breeze at the peak, above all my struggles, I feel stronger than ever. And it’s only the beginning. I’ll make sure of that. I turn around, and beyond the rocks, a massive field of unkempt grasses stretches towards the horizon. A whole new world. A whole new hurdle. The old cackle tries to shrink away, hiding before I can forget it. It doesn’t get far. I seize the sensation, and I look beyond it. I look further, and further, for its owner. And then I remember him, and with that memory comes the old sense. It’s only a tickle, subtle and unassuming, merely poking the back of my brain. But I know better. I know it means more than that. It means that foul walking jumble of insanity is here, on the same land as I. It means that somewhere he still lurks, living out his miserable half of an existence. It means I still have a chance to be whole again. I look to the new plains that lie before me, and I take the first step. And the next. And the next. And I never look back. I remember you. I remember your laugh. I remember your smirk. I remember your glare. I remember your sins, each and every. And above all, I finally remember that stupid name we gave you. Vezon. Chapter 2 - Jolts and Jealousy Make a Mind Mad So this is what deserts look like when you slap grass on top of them. All that wading through spiky ebon mountainsides for this: fields, and fields within fields, all stretching out before me, mocking me with their vast emptiness. The grass is green as can be, and the soil is plenty fertile – trust me, I checked. But I know a desert, former or present, when I see one. The way the expanse stretches, the way the hills rise and curve, there’s just something about it all that just screams more “sand” than “soil”. Don’t know what could’ve caused the miraculous transformation, but I like to think a godly duel was involved. A climactic battle full of bloodshed and destruction. All for some grass blades. And then there’s the sun. It always likes beating down the hardest out in places like these, the emptiest places. And today, hoo boy, today, it was absolutely searing. I spent months in the magma chamber of a volcano once and even then, simply walking a few miles out here is excruciating. Not tiring though. Strange thing, that. It’s not like I don’t feel pain – I punch myself every now and again to make sure – but fatigue? I know of it, I understand it, but I’ve never felt it. Not like others do. A little quirk that comes with being half a mind, I suppose. Thankfully, the heat seems to be on the run now. Soon I can start worrying about freezing ''to death instead. The receding heat reminds me that the day is almost finished. I look westward, as blazing oranges and purples provide the fanfare for the sun’s great departure. A little overzealous if you ask me. It’ll be back tomorrow. The world’s a bit boring that way. No need to get excited. Though I must admit, it’s hard to not appreciate those consistencies, of day and night. The way the sun always rises, the way it always sets. In a world of ever-shifting alliances and battle tides, such a constant is almost reassuring. Almost. See, it’s hard to be completely anchored by such concepts when the world so lovingly throws your own lot out of whack in the most chaotic of ways time and time again. One moment you’re a whole skakdi, the next you’re half of one. One moment you’re on a quest for a mask of life itself, the next you’re cursed to guard the thing alongside the ugliest oversized spider this side of Voya Nui. And then you guard and guard and guard, only to find out that all along, the mask wants to replace you, like you’re not good enough! Like you’re just some filthy, disposable animal! I mean, I’m sure I ''am, but it’s a matter of principle! Contractual honor! Toa and Zyglak and captures and suicide missions and dimension-hopping, and then…and then there was yesterday, when everything blew up. Ah, yes, I understand that might confuse you. What blew up? Who blew up? How am I alive? Temper your inquiries, I’m getting to that. Not too long ago, I was in the presence of some of the most powerful beings in the universe, and a couple Matoran for scale. Two guardians of the much-desired Mask of Life (frankly they did a lousy job), the first Toa to ever exist, the first Toa to every betray her sworn duties and destinies for power (a pity we never talked more), the lost – and perhaps last – Makuta, the fabled Artakha in the metal flesh, one of the most legendary Toa of Air, and an honest-to-Mata-Nui Great Being, twisted and turned from years of mutation and isolation. Oh yeah, and there were those two Matoran. Some red and brown guys. Very unassuming. Don’t think even the Toa noticed them. And then they all blew up. Very sad. Many tears shed. I tip my nonexistent hat. Now as for how I survived, that’s a more curious question. Not sure I know the answer to it. Ambiguity is another little joy the universe likes to toss around, opening many interesting possibilities. You could spend your whole lifetime speculating them all. Some actually do. I call them “boring people”. There’s no fun in deciphering the universe. Takes too much time. You could go crazy even trying, and Lord knows I’ve got enough of that already. That’s why I’ve long-since given up looking for comforts in consistency. The world’s a chaotic and mysterious mess. Might as well enjoy it for that. So I don’t think much on my survival. Why waste the miracle, when I can spend the rest of my days savoring it with mischievous misdeeds? And believe me, I plan to do just that. Eventually. I just need a way out of this desert. This green, grassy desert. I use the fleeting light to scan my surroundings for any sign of life. Food, civilization, or a bit of both. Anything to quell the gnawing hunger my gut keeps giving off. Sooner or later it’s going to seep into my limbs and send me crashing to the earth. Just a living corpse. And there’s no fun in that either. I may never feel ''tired, but the body, it loses out eventually. Doesn’t care what you think of it. Funny though, all the greens in the world, and not any actual food in sight. Well, ''delectable food. I suppose there’s always the grass blades. But just because sentient masks and Matoran treat me like an animal doesn’t mean I have to act ''like one. “C’mon nature, give me flesh to slay and devour, like a civilized being!” I scream at the fields as they flow in the gentlest of breezes. The fields say nothing back. Barren ''and ''rude. What’s that? Why yes, biomechanical beings ''do ''eat. Some of us happen to prefer it. Thanks for asking. I needed the distraction. I keep on looking, rubbing my face absentmindedly. Could just be the nerves, desperately wanting my mask to start working again. I used to be able to teleport, y’know. They all said I didn’t have any powers, but then I got one: a mask that could move an ''island, and I stole it to move me. Some weird shiny protodermis made sure it’d stay with me. After that, dimensional adventures. Alternate universes of mismatched factions and light-beings and dark-beings and duck-people and hero factories and then…there was that Great Being, the one that blew up. He needed me for some errands, and he happened to know how to turn my mask off. He also neglected to turn it back on before he died. Now it’s just a spiky gold trinket glued to my face. I miss the teleporting. I could go for anywhere other than here right now. Even the duck dimension. Now where was I? Ah yes, finding sustenance to avoid death. I look back up from my inner musings to continue my search, and use the…wait, where’s the light? I look to the west again. No sun. No light. See, this is what happens when I spend all my time talking to you people. I consider collapsing right there. Scream at the sky for a bit. Demand it send me something delicious. I think better of it. Sky’s too tired to do things for me at this hour. Too tired to even shine a moon, apparently. Nothing shines up there, except scores of pretty little stars. It’s hardly a help. I can barely see my own hands, let alone the rest of the emptiness. I let out a roar and unleash my laser vision across the lands. Then I remember I don’t have laser vision. Vezok got that perk out of our trade. Ah yes, Vezok. Wonder fellow. Brutish old schemer, that one. Now he was a true skakdi, hailing from the holy Motherland, Zakaz. The rotting, battle-beaten Motherland. I can process a few images of it from Vezok’s memories, but I’ve never had the pleasure of wandering its ruins myself. Would’ve made for wonderful stomping grounds. But Vezok, he decided he’d rather leave, for greater things. Well, ones he could steal from others, anyways. One day one of his compatriots “accidentally” shot him with a magical spear, and poof, there I was, ripped straight from his psyche and physique. He got to keep his hulking body, fleshy spine protrusions, and impact vision, among other things. But I got off with a few of my own little quirks, most in the mind. The joy to satisfy him, the surprise to jolt him, the envy to drive him, they all left him that day to come live in my head, along with a healthy bit his cunning intellect to boot. Now, having that alone left me in a state that others might refer to as “insane”. Vezok though, he didn’t fare off much better, no matter how much he might try to make you think. He’s got the fear to keep him alive, the anger to strengthen him, and the fatigue to keep him from pushing too far. But that’s all he’s got. It makes for a boring existence, one of monotonous rage, rest, and little else. It makes for a single-minded individual. Now me, I’ve got plenty of goals. Bit of money, bit of power, and a bit of murder along the way. I let the specifics come when they come. The world’s always changing. Intricate plans have no place in it. Unless you’re out in the wilderness and need a bit of food. Then plans don’t seem so bad. I scan the darkened horizons again. Few images come to me. The stars cast a faint glow, one that lends me the outlines of a few hundred grass-blade tips and nothing else. Just a dark, prickly void. I start feeling the chills too, carried by a strong southward breeze straight from the mountains. It’s not as bad as I expected. It only shakes my bones instead of freezing them solid. Breathing out, I notice blatant puffs of steam have replaced my exhalations. The subtleties of my breath are lost to me now. If some wandering predators and I meet out here, there’s no hiding from them anymore. The breeze blows on through, rustling the grasses as it trails along their blades. A collective hiss arises amongst them, intruding my ears. They’re all hissing at me now, whispering to me, urging me to turn back, to return to skulking in the mountains. I feel no fear at their insistences. Part of me wonders what it’d be like if I could. It’d be a curious perspective, certainly, but for now I have to take advantage of my ignorance. I let out another roar their way, to show them I’ll be continuing on my merry way. And the grass roars back. No, wait, not the grass. Upwards. The sky! I strain my eyes against the twinkling stars, hoping to see the source. That’s when I hear the flapping, loud and thunderous. Something’s out there, swishing and swooshing in the air, like…like wings. And they just keep getting louder, closer. They send shockwaves in the air with ever flap, gusts flying earthward and rustling the grass. I feel the blades flutter and retreat, diving every which way. Looking towards the consistent noise, I see it: a massive silhouette disrupting the flow of the night sky. Nothing distinct, but no less imposing. I wonder if I should run, or if there’s really such an urgency. Maybe I should stay and watch? Maybe it’s friendly! That’s the thing about not having fear on the mind. No self-preservation, no instinct to keep yourself out of danger. It can be an annoying little hindrance. Frankly I’m surprised it hasn’t gotten me killed yet. First time for everything. With a resounding FOOM!, I feel the gigantic form touch ground a good few dozen feet in front of me. The earth trembles in the wake of its confident arrival, and more winds rise in its wake, bombarding me with their invisible hands before rushing into the night. It takes all the strength of my little clawed toes to not topple over. Straightening myself, I stare at this new companion. I hear grunts and growls from the silhouetted frame, but the stars can only reveal so much. I can make out the bat-like wings, and what appears to be a serpentine head, wider than my torso. Yes…''yes'', it’s a head. I can see the eyes now, blazing with the purest orange, the kind only the infernos of Hell can cook up for you. I feel the rumbles and rustles as the creature starts to move. The eyes are getting bigger now. The silhouette too. Whatever it is, it’s found me, and it’s curious. I keep staring into its eyes. Something about them is…interesting. Familiar. Like an old kindred spirit. And then it hits me like a falling moon. “Kardas…?” I ask the shadows. The eyes vanish as the creature’s gaping maw opens wide, revealing its dazzling display of shining daggers, dripping with saliva and ambiguous gunk of previous meals, smells accompanying. It lets out a second mighty roar, right into my face. The force is unforgettable, and the stench downright domestic. A grin streaks across my face. “It’s been too long my carnivorous little carnage-bringer.” Closing his mouth, his head comes forward gently, rubbing along my armor. I place my right hand on the top of his head, rubbing it softly, metal against metal, like an owner to his steed. His flying, energy-breathing steed. A pleased little purr stirs in his throat. I look up his body to take in the rest of him. Even in the weak light, I can see slashes and cuts on his red and silver scales, wounds rendered by many battles no doubt, too recent to heal. “Others’ve tried taking shots at you. But no one can break you in but me, eh?” Kardas snorts in accordance. “That’s right. You’re no one’s beast of burden. S’just you and your partner in crime.” Kardas roars gleefully. He recedes and turns to the side, lowering himself to his knees. His upper body follows suite, neck and all, forming a ramp to the hulking frame that keeps him all together. “To the skies, ‘lil Kardas?” Kardas growls, patting his left forearm on the ground excitedly. “To the skies, then.” I climb. We fly. We fly for some time up there. The winds blast me back. I hang tight to Kardas, and they harmlessly whistle through my armor in sing-song fashion as a pleasant jingle. Maybe I’ll make it our theme song someday. We keep riding through the stars until a new collection of lights comes into view, groundward. Some stay, some move, but they all stand together in a massive conglomerate. It’s so organized, so orderly! It’s disgusting. “The Matoran’s new play-pen?” I ask my serpentine steed. He grunts back in confirmation. “Well then, perhaps we should greet them? It’s only proper. I reckon a good fireball ‘otta do. They’ll practically be screaming ''in excitement!” I make a downward shove against Kardas, indicating my desired destination. He ignores me. I do it again. This time he grunts in refusal. “What’s wrong? No lust in destruction for you today?” Kardas doesn’t answer. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone ''soft,” ''I say, failing to hide the disgust. The very notion, the very ''thought, that my glorious dragon can’t stand any more bloodshed and’d rather have a…a…''civilized way of living, bleh! Just thinking about it makes me want to vomit over the side. I almost do it anyway, just for the chance at hitting some poor passerby. I try conversation instead. “Kardas, dearie, killin’ is what you’re all about! It’s what you live for! Don’t let a few ''stab-wounds ''turn you off! It’s your shtick! It’s ''our ''shtick! What’re we going to do if not that?!” He continues to ignore me, and instead opts to dive down for some shadows. I hold tight before the gusts can knock me off. We reach the ground in seconds. Even in the dim starlight, I can see that a great mass stands before the two of us. There’s a hole in it too. A big hole. I can feel it’s breath as air flows into the stone’s great maw. A cave I assume. Kardas begins to walk inside. He turns to me, and gestures with his head that I follow. I do. “Alright, alright, we’ll sleep on it. But we’re going to burn that city tomorrow, or my name isn’t Vezon, Champion of Anarchy!” Kardas ignores my me and keeps heading inside. We find ourselves swallowed by the shadows. Inside, I can feel the emptiness above us. It’s mighty big, this cave. It’ll make a lovely little hidey-hole. To the side, where I assume Kardas to be, I hear a few bangs against the stone floor. “Buildin’ up the ‘ole energy blast?” Crimson light flies from Kardas’s maw in answer. Even safely out of harm’s way, I can feel its searing heat. It strikes a pile of previously-unseen wood on the floor, and brings a healthy flame to life. It lights up the entire cave in all its strange flatness. I make out marks of older energy blasts on the walls and floor. “D’aww, did you clean the place up just for me?” Kardas snorts and lies down around the fire, closing his eyes. I turn away to the back of the cave, and make out the remains of what appears to be a carriage. No riders, no steeds (both either dead or eaten if Kardas still has his touch), but definitely a carriage. A chunk of its rear is torn out, more than likely for Kardas’s little campfire. From the hole, a pile of cloths are visible, their once-neat stacks lying in chaos. “And you raided a caravan, no less. Kardas, you haven’t lost your touch one bit.” Kardas keeps lying down, sleepily grunting my way. “But if you still raid and plunder…why can’t you attack a simple city? You got the brawn, you got the guts, why—“ I see something now, on his side, just beneath his right wing: a handprint. Around it, the armor seems…shinier. The print looks old, but something still lingers. It feels…pure, like the energy only found in… “Did…did a Toa do this?” I place my hand on the print. Kardas purrs a bit, like it brings back pleasant memories. “Ah…so a Toa must’ve tried to help you. To ''heal you. Is that it? Is that why you won’t attack the city? You think that nice little Toa might be there? Kardas grunts again in confirmation. “Heh, didn’t take you for the grateful type. Well, if that’s how it’s going to be…” I walk over to the wrecked carriage, and rummage through its cargo. A bring out a long black cloth. It feels lush, yet strong, in my hands. I wrap two of its corners around my neck, and tie a little knot. It holds, and the entire cloth flows in my wake. I forgot how grand it felt, wearing a cape. Almost makes me think I’m something more than a thieving, bottom-feeding half-a-skakdi. I proceed to the wheels next, and rip off the wads of metal that act as their hub caps, a strangely modern addition on such an archaic design. I bring two of them to the fire. I hold one in the flames, softening the metal. Then, carefully, I turn around, shaping it into a little cylinder. I stick it to the upside of the other hubcap, and place them back into the fire, letting them stick together. Satisfied, I pull it out. I let it cool for a good hour. I let the minutes fly by. Then I pick it up in my hands. It’s clunky. It’s makeshift. It’s terribly unconvincing. It’s perfect. I placed my new top hat onto my head, and push my cape back to let it billow. “I’ll venture into town tomorrow for goodies, like a civilized ''gentle-skakdi.” Kardas weakly grunts back in content before he goes silent. I hear a little snore in his throat. I climb up his body and lie on his gargantuan neck, my head lying against his. It’s as good a bed as I’ve ever had. Then…something tingles. Something...''familiar, in the furthest reaches of my mind. I sit up, and look outside. The fire leaves the shadows out there more indiscernible than ever, though the city lights off in the distance remain visible, ever faintly. Someway, somehow, I know something else is out there. That familiar something. A name comes to mind. It makes me smile. “Vezok.” I forgot how that felt, that psychic tickle. He must be close. Somewhere out there, he must be on his way, getting even closer and closer. If I could feel fear, I imagine I’d be very afraid. I tip my new hat down over my eyes, and let darkness take me. Such murderous delights can wait until tomorrow. Soundtrack * Chapter 1 Theme * Chapter 2 Theme Category:Stories Category:User:Cordak The Cynical Makuta